


White Noise

by AcidThrill



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Withdrawal, M/M, ill be adding tags as i go, title subject to change i cant decide whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidThrill/pseuds/AcidThrill
Summary: Ghost grandmas, withdrawals, and maybe getting ghosted? Sounds like a plan! (But don't tell Ghoul about that time at the factory- he might kill someone.)
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap our boys are back! 2019 man!! Wasn't able to see them personally, but hopefully they'll go on tour. T_T  
> This isn't canon-compliant, and is totally just my imagination going wild for no good reason. It'll be similar, but I have no plans of going through the same plot. I'm hoping to actually finish this and update semi-regularly, but that's also up to life. If you like it, or even want more, letting me know is appreciated. :)
> 
> No drug withdrawal in this chapter, but definitely in the next one.
> 
> (The band members names are used for their "real" names in this, but that's mainly for convenience and me being used to it, haha.)

Red was a nice color. 

They should use red more often, he distantly thought.

He was pretty doubtful THAT would ever happen though. City management was a bitch to convince past their whites and tans once you reach the center with all the fancy office buildings. Maybe in the trashed out areas outside of the main city he’d see it more-- towards the decrepit buildings, where shady deals and people still dwelled.

The sun was setting, and the bright red shade was flooding the sky, bleeding into the sand around him. Sand was weird. It felt coarse and flowed around his feet as he shuffled around. He was probably just dreaming to be honest, but this was an unusual choice for his brain to make. Most nights were left dreamless as a side effect of his pills anyway.

He was decently warm, but a nice breeze flowed around enough that he wasn’t sweating. Distantly, he thought he could see something on the horizon. A car? It looked like it anyway. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tried walking towards the shape. Tried. He didn’t make it more than a couple steps before he couldn’t lift his foot anymore-- completely stopped and unable to twitch a muscle.

Gently sliding across his face, making him flinch and slowly blocking that red, red sky from his view, long skinny fingers crept until his whole vision was blocked off. The hand felt wrinkly; long nails tapped the space next to his left eye, and man, were they fucking long. The pressure on his face was soft but firm. He felt a finger move close to his brow, tracing a shape on the skin above his eye. 

What was it drawing-- something like a triangle? What the hell?

“Ditch the pills, kid. I’m getting tired of waiting for the party to start.”

Now, see; if this was reality, he’d probably have pissed himself by now- ghost grandma whispering in your ear and feeling up your face in the middle of what might be a desert? Nightmare material. But, as it was now, all he could do was gape like a fish, unable to say a word as the wrinkled hand slid away as lightly as it came, leaving his face cooling off from the contact. The dry, crooning voice in his ear continued, warm breath blowing across the tip of his ear.

“Hurry up, kid.”

It felt like all his muscles were frozen, not even the slightest twitch allowed. He couldn’t turn around to see who the hell was talking, and that red horizon might as well have been blinding him now.  All he could see, shadowy figure slowly creaking while it wheeled its way across his vision, was an old decrepit grocery cart with stacks of what looked like colorful masks piled high, almost falling out with how many were thrown in.

Of all the things to think about at that moment, his last thought was, 

_ I want one. _


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he's gone and fucked himself over, hasn't he?

The pills were meant to keep the higher status citizens complacent. Part of the “trust” that came with living in the city center. They gave you a boost in productivity, access to better jobs and living-- but to leave the city, to try and get clean? Hell on Earth, and that was if you didn’t get caught in the long run. They were meant to have a long and agonizing withdrawal process-- more incentive never to get off of them. Companies kept record of employees, gave random drug tests, and monitored ‘dangerous’ behavior. And if you lived in the slums? Well, good luck. You’re more likely to be caught as a scapegoat for the higher ups running around pimping droids and humans alike, either for sex or (less government regulated) drugs. Dealers and addicts alike littered around the corners. Everyone busying themselves to ignore their lives and reality. Droids wandered around, many for not-so-kid friendly services, and others discarded and wandering around until their parts started to corrode. 

They’d passed the inner edge of the slum on their way to the station that day, he remembered. He hadn’t been able to look away at the odd sight compared to their middle-class living area in the main city.

The station stood as striking as usual in his memory. He couldn’t get the image of Mikey flying away at alarming speed towards his future school out of his mind. Maybe it was just sibling attachment bringing a muted sense of longing to his chest for a second-- either way, it was a prickle of unease, and unacceptable. Did his meds need adjustment? He’d heard of dosages changing after puberty; yeah, maybe that was all it was. 

( _ He ignored the fact that puberty had ended peacefully a couple years back.) _

Sleek platform under foot, and the lack of sound other than the deafening wooshes of the trains sweeping by all around would be alarming to anyone unused to it. He could still feel the faint impression of Mikey’s last hug. Him leaving off to better opportunities.

Light, easy steps. 

Time to go home. He was okay with this, wasn’t he? Of course he was.

( _ No, he wasn’t. _ )

  
  


\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Goood morning citizens! Today’s daily broadcast times will be starting at the standard times of…” 

_ Click _

Volume lowered. A night’s rest made things easier. Emotions could be handled, just like the doc’s always said. 

( _ Did he want them to be? _ )

Feet swung over towards the ground. Mechanical motions, repeated day by day. Repetition made life easier, afterall. He could still hear the typical times being rattled off on the morning announcements. They never changed unless something happened. 

( _ Nothing ever happened. _ )

Mikey said not to forget his meds-- but he also said not to forget to eat. He had work to put in his bag, a shower to take, and reports to write...

Too much, too much, too much. One thing at a time. Shower first. Closest in the vicinity. Breakfast next. Second closest. Why wasn’t there any food ready?

( _ Mikey’s gone; he knew this was going to change everything, he just  _ **_knew_ ** _. _ ) 

Standard breakfast laid out next; he’s not used to it. It took longer than he expected. Need to hurry up. Good citizens don’t go to work late. Oh, would you look at that? There’s no more time after he ate and put dishes away. Gathering up his stuff took little time but it’s time to leave.

Was he forgetting something? 

( _ Of course he was. They went on and on and  _ **_on_ ** _ about it every morning.  _

_ Take. Your. Pills.  _

_ Mikey always had them sitting out with breakfast. Mikey was the better citizen.  _

_ Mikey  _ **_left_ ** _. _ )

\----------------------------------

“Gooood morning, citizens! Today’s daily broadcas-”

_ Click _

This time, it was the off button slammed into rather than the volume plucked down a couple notches. Fuck, did it hurt. The headache sucked, and didn’t seem to want to leave. The sudden hot flashes and sweating woke him up too fucking early in the morning and damn if he didn’t want to gouge his own eyes out from the needle of pain radiating behind his eye ball. 

He’d wanted this hadn’t he? He thought he did. He didn’t remember why he decided to do this after forgetting his pills that one morning. Did he still want it? The temptation to go back and grab his stash was growing-- but curiosity won out this round. He’d be able to handle this. No work today, and because of the special business presentation going on tomorrow he wasn’t needed until noon. 

He’d be  **fine** . 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, he’d fucked up. 

If he’d been smarter like Mikey, or even just listened to the brat, he’d be okay; but, no, he was curious, and fucked up. Badly. Withdrawal is a bitch. If anyone says that it’s easy and quick, tell them to go fuck themselves up the ass, they’ve obviously never gone through it. Of course, Gerard would probably do that for you, if he wasn’t currently going through it and wanting to die.

Oh sure, start of it? Just some mood swings, weird headaches. Dry mouth. It’s a pain, but it’s alright; but, man oh man, if he’s honest? By the time the main effects started coursing through him he wanted to rip his head off and cursed himself for tossing that bottle down the drain the night before. The vomiting, the dizziness, the migraines— it all drowned together and made him want to jump off a building.

Sucking it up, and trying not to let on to why he was suddenly sick, he took to his desk more than ever before, minus the occasional chain smoking breaks to try and calm down his shot nerves. Gee was a lot of things, and unfortunately, a stubborn bastard was also one of them. 

Forcing himself to suck it up and go to work, (wouldn’t do to be  _ late,  _ now would it?), he robotically went step by step through the day. Sure, he was sweating up a storm and might want to hyperventilate when someone looked at him too long (what if they  _ knew? _ ), but he pushed himself to go forward. Had done this for a couple days by now. Nervously pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes, he couldn’t help but keep taking smoke breaks, chaining smoking each cigarette like he was inhaling air, wanting this day to be over. The paranoia was at an all time high, making him want to bash his head in from the overwhelming urge to just run out of the building and never look back. 

To be fair, it had been going decently okay, or at least he thought so, until they announced a random drug screening. If he’d been sweating before, he wanted to curl up and die in a puddle now. He must’ve been on his 5th cigarette at the point, considering how to approach this situation. He could, technically, get access through the service droid routes and switch up his blood vials with a coworker. He’d be condemning them to what should be his fate though, and couldn’t keep the sour taste of that out of his mouth. Okay. So, that wouldn’t be an option. Leaving early or asking to reschedule his offices check would be an immediate red flag, too. 

“You alright, Way?” A voice popped up behind him. Startled, Gerard turned, exhaling a lung full of smoke quickly. Fuck.

“Yeah- yeah, man. I’m uh, I’m fine, man.” Great. Stellar. Wonderful. Simmons, his coworker from a few desks over, was standing behind him, looking at him with his eyebrows pinched in a concerned furrow. He couldn’t help but stare at the fluffy mane of hair the man had-- how he’d convinced HR to let him keep that he’d like to know. Apparently his stuttered response wasn’t reassuring enough, because Simmons face contorted even further, taking in his sweaty, nervous manner. 

_ I’m going to be caught _ .

“You… ready for the screening today, Way?” Simmons asked. He was watching Gerards face, and he just knew Simmons suspected something. Nervously, he flicked the ash off the end of his quickly shortening cigarette. 

“Totally, yeah. Just, uh, feeling a bit off man-” Simmons took his big hand and laid it heavily on his shoulder, cutting off whatever he was going to continue his excuses with. He started smiling at Gee, and unnerving as it was, it was obviously fake as hell. His own smaller false smile slowly lowered, lips quivering as he got ready for Simmons to deliver his fate.

“Do me a favor man. Smile like I’ve said something funny, and look at the windows.” Simmons emphasized this with a tilt of his head, and Gerard just now noticed how his fro blocked the cameras view (situated in the corner of the room) of his face. Scared shitless, and doing as asked, Gee faked a small smile and turned his head towards the window, blocking his face from the camera.

“Good, good. Thanks man. We’re going to look like we’re having a nice, easy chat, alright Way?” He could only nod tightly, but forced his shoulders to relax.

“Those cameras over there don’t have any audio since it’s the older smoke break room, but I need to be careful incase anyone can watch it and read lips, so lets be careful, alright?” He nodded again, fiddling with the now empty pack in his hands, last cigarette regretfully extinguished soon after Simmons had started talking to him. 

“You off your pills Way?” Jerking his head up, Gee stared at him for half a second, watching the fake smile on his face tightened, as he had accidentally looked away from the window. Forcing himself to relax, he looked back towards the window before he responded.

“No, man, seriously, I’m fine-”

“I know the signs of withdrawal when I see it, and how you’ve managed to get this far in the day without being reported I don’t know man.” That shut his mouth, dry lips closing tight.

_ This was it, he’s going to be reported. _

“I’m not judging, Way. Everyone has their reasons. But, you’re gonna get your ass ghosted if you stay here.” Simmons peeked over to the clock, fake happy face still on. 

“Here.” He plucked a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, it cleary well used from how crinkled it was. Slapping it into Gerards hand, he softened his smile, letting genuine emotion slip through a bit. He could see it was half full of cigarettes still, and faintly, a little slip of paper peeked up around them.

“If you don’t want to die or be reconditioned, go to that address. Give them that piece of paper and they’ll get you through the withdrawal.” Simmons face tightened again, disdain clearly slipping through.

“You’re clearly about to hit half way through, or have just started it. Fever, sweats, vomiting. You know what I mean.” He was right, of course. Gerard’s face had gone white through Simmons words, trying to process everything.

“You got any family?” That caught him off guard.

“I uh, I got a brother. Mikey-” He got cut off.

“He here in this part of the city?” Gee shook his head, frowning.

“No, he got taken into the tech program in the city center’s new school.” Fuck, was he seriously considering doing this? Simmons face scrunched up, thinking, but nodded.

“We do need more techies,” he mused, leaving Gerard to stew in his thoughts. Well, it seems like he either followed a man who he’s maybe talked to once or twice in the office’s advice, or wait to see what horror awaited him at the hands of BLI punishment. (He’d take the strangers way out in a heartbeat.) 

“Alright man, I’ve gotta head back.” He patted Gee on the shoulder again, gentler this time. He watched Simmons roll his shoulders, relaxing his stance like this was normal for him. Maybe it was?

“Go there man. Sneak out as soon as you can. Fake a coffee run if you have to. I’m serious.” Simmons looked him hard in the eyes, all fake pleasantries temporarily gone for a second.

“Yeah,” he licked his lips nervously.

“I’ll do that man.” He hoped Mikey was doing alright, because he had a feeling he’d just screwed himself over massively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This was done damn near midnight, so excuse any issues!

**Author's Note:**

> Go figure, MCR decides to reunite this year, lmao. I've had this in my drafts for months, and watching the stream of their reunion concert really helped motivate me to finish off more of this mess of a story. It's not finished yet, but it's giving me a goal to work towards in all this chaos. I'll be trying to post semi-regularly, if anyone actually likes this wreck of a story.  
> (If you've made it this far then holy crap, kudos to you. xD Thanks for reading/listening to my whining. )


End file.
